Yesterday Continues by Diana Magallón and Jeff Crouch

Yesterday Continues

by Diana Magallón and Jeff Crouch

“Take nothing for your journey, 

neither a staff, nor a bag, nor bread, nor money;

 and do not even have two tunics apiece.”

Luke 9:3

These are the stories no one tells.

But everyone tells us stories.

And we tell ourselves stories.

And we tell.

One day,

Everything stolen,

Everything ruined.

And yet everything remained—

As remains now.

As it remains—

No reason to have begun. 

No reason to have an end.

No reason to begin here.

Or there.

Or anywhere.

Just that we are here again.

Here.

Right, here.

We take the make-believe option.

Either, and—

Empty words are full of meaning.

Kicking sand.

Or dust.

Or dirt.

It was muddy in Kansas.

Remember to refresh the memory often.

Keep the charger plugged in.

Keep spare batteries on hand.

Otherwise, we will lose our connection.

Stay the night?

Yet we refuse to travel light.

We pack our luggage.

We pay the insurance.

It takes three moving trucks to move in.

Where are we going this time?

We pack our luggage.

We pay the insurance.

On and on.

It takes three moving trucks to move in.

But we just moved.

And we are tired.

Yes, we tell ourselves that we are smart.

The cost of the repairs keeps going up.

The cost of each move grows more enormous.

Seemingly seems such.

We tell ourselves it won't hurt.

We unload the truck.

We drop the heirloom.

Watch it shatter.

We spend three weeks to put it back together.

"Just you name your price,"

We say to the movers.

Foolish.

And these are our words.

Almost pre-recorded.

Mostly wrong.

Another response we could not think through.

We stack our boxes.

We make our place.

We will be moving soon.

But our names have been removed somehow.

From the address.

But we do not want to be fools. 

We made the payment. 

And yet we cannot seem to help it,

This feeling foolish.

And is it time to eat?

Should we wash?

The words are not heard.

The water is running full on!

Who died.

And no one listened.

And no one cried.

The great pain.

To make a difference.

Though these stories have no power in themselves, 

Because they sit unread on crowded shelves,

We too rue the nothing such.

The snake that molts, the earth that spins.

And death again.

On and on.

Because we do not want to be the fools 

Who died,

We are the fools who lived.

Sound familiar?

For the fools who failed.

We fight; we fail.

We fail; we fight.

Go on, 

Wrong or right.

We might do better asleep.

To the laundry with the dirt.

And to the dirt.

And to the unhealed.

To the hurt.

I wait in line to pay for my groceries.

And these are the stories no one knowingly lives for.

I wait in line to pay for my groceries.

I pay my bills.

And my prescription is refilled.

We pay the insurance.

We do not want to sacrifice our lives.

We would that to the otherwise.

The TV would deny that there is anything else.

But the game show offers wealth.

Anything else,

Dear Earth?

A promise?

Else?

Off to work.

And these stories have all the power.

Astronaut.

Picture word, word picture.

Scribble, dibble.

Self-censure.

Mistake?

Who knows how hot?

Rain and smoke and rain and smoke.

An ancient now.

Who knows how hot?

Enough.

But no reverse?

And no forward gear?

Waiting on the movers.

Because?

Because.

And these stories have all the power.

The astronaut?

In silence.

The astronaut has a story?

Any good movers?

Anything else,

Dear Earth?

Nostalgia?